


The Smell of Hospitals in Winter

by indevan



Series: Rock Band AU [40]
Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Drug Use, Hospitals, M/M, Overdosing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2019-05-24 19:23:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14960615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indevan/pseuds/indevan
Summary: When you’re young, you’re supposed to be invincible.  That’s what Goten’s always thought.  He and Trunks are the unbeatable duo.  They’ve pushed limits for years, but they never thought it’d catch up with them





	The Smell of Hospitals in Winter

**Author's Note:**

> [AU timeline!](http://vertigoats.tumblr.com/post/166537761367/since-after-the-first-few-the-fics-in-rock-band)

When you’re young, you’re supposed to be invincible.  That’s what Goten’s always thought. He and Trunks are the unbeatable duo.  They’ve pushed limits for years, but they never thought it’d catch up with them.

Goten’s been slowing down.  He’s stopped putting quaaludes in his sodas and snorting coke off of mirrors so he can feel bright and hot as a flashbulb as he stares at his reflection barred by the lines.  He still drinks too much, smokes too much, but he’s stopped the harder things. Trunks kept going as fast they had as teenagers. Faster.

They’ve gotten into situations like this, but never this severe.  It’s always been handled privately or the hospital hadn’t been involved, but this is serious.  Goten’s so, so tired but he’s afraid to close his eyes because he’s afraid of what he’ll see. Trunks convulsing on the street while people looked on.  The way he looked before, sweating and out of it.

He thinks that they’ve finally found their way to each other, real and whole, and it’s being torn away.  They had been making strides towards real adulthood. They had their own place and their band was getting more well known on their own merits, not simply because of who their fathers are.

And now Trunks is in a hospital bed and he might die.

Isn’t this how people die?

Even when they’re supposed to be immortal?

Goten curls into himself and blinks against his tired, foggy eyes.  Someone sits next to him and he wills him away. The waiting room is nearly empty so why are they here, next to him?

“Electric Boogaloo.”

He hears the voice speak and, unbidden, tears prick into his eyes.  He turns to look at his uncle who’s always been there for him.

“Uncle Radi,” he says, his voice sounding clogged and croaky. “I’m scared.”

“I know.  It’s terrifying, huh?”

He nods and wishes he was a little kid again so he could curl up in his embrace and feel like all of his problems were gone.  Problems--right. What problems did he have as a kid that measure up to this? Measure up to maybe losing the love of his life.

“I’ve been through this,” he says after a moment. “With your dad.  Turles, too, was the one who wound up in the hospital and I was so scared and so out of it.”

Goten thinks of Uncle Turles and how  _ he’s _ indestructible.  His dad, too. Maybe that’s where he got it.  Everyone in his life seems like nothing will tear them down so he and Trunks thought the same thing.

“It was different, though,” he says quietly. “It wasn’t as bad.”

Uncle Raditz looks at him, brow knit. “As bad?  What did Trunks take?”

He doesn’t want to say as if he really  _ is _ a little kid and he’ll get in trouble.  Shakily, he takes in a soggy breath.

“Speedballs.”

His uncle lets out a whistle and shakes his head. “You two, I swear to God.”

Goten doesn’t know what to say, but he wants more comfort.  He wants reassurance that everything will be alright. The doors to the waiting room fly open, ruining the quiet moment.

“Where’s my baby?!” Bulma demands.

This can’t be the first time she’s screamed this as she already has on her visitor’s pass, has already made it this far.  Goten sees his dad behind him, not yelling like her, but his face tells it all. He feels to blame, somehow, for not doing much more than telling Trunks that he should maybe slow down.

“Ma’am--”

“Don’t you ‘ma’am’ me--WHERE IS HE?”

“He’s stabilized and in room 315,” a nurse explains, “but not up to--sir!  Sir!”

Trunks’s dad doesn’t even listen, just pushes past her away from the waiting room.  Goten wishes he could do that but he’s numb, sitting here in the waiting room, unable to move or shake his guilt.  He barely registers his uncle’s arm around his shoulders as he closes his eyes and tries to push away the fog.

\--

Walking into the hospital room feels weirdly nostalgic to Vegeta.  Not the actual location but entering a room, not knowing what to expect and seeing his son.  It’s just like over twenty years ago, now, when Bulma showed him the sleeping infant and told him he was his.  He stands over Trunks and wonders where the fuck everything went wrong.

Maybe it’s natural to think that or unfair.

Who the fuck knows?  He just knows that he tried so hard not to fuck his kids up like his parents fucked him up and they still found a way.  Maybe it’s chemical. Trunks is bipolar like him, after all, but it doesn’t matter the cause.

Because he just sees him in this hospital bed and wishes he wasn’t there.  Either of them. He still can’t do hospitals. His mother died in one, finished herself off while he was at school, after having him walk in on her in the bathroom nearly dead.

He clenches his teeth and wills the thoughts away because this isn’t about him.

He thinks Trunks looks small lying in the bed and washed out.  Even his hair looks like a lighter shade of purple, fanned out on the pillow, but that can’t be right.  He rubs his eyes tiredly. The veins around his mouth stand out, milky blue, and his lips are almost colorless.  He looks dead already and Vegeta feels like someone gutted him.

He reaches out to take his hand and it feels both dry and clammy.  It lies limply in his and he wants to scream. Wants that to wake him up.  Wants that to work. He squeezes his hand, careful of the IV sticking out of it.

Maybe he imagines it but he feels Trunks squeeze it back.

\--

Goten cries when he sees him.  He’s awake now, and he doesn’t look as dead as before, but he still cries.  He doesn’t know if it’s relief or what but he can’t stop.

“Hey, baby,” he says and his voice is croaking from lack of use. “Don’t cry.”

“You ass,” he bleats. “I hate you.”

He didn’t drag a chair to the bed so he just sinks to the floor.  The room smells like antiseptic and it’s all wrong. Shakily, Goten gets to his feet and wipes at his eyes with his wrists the way he used to when he was a little kid.  Trunks gives a shaky smile. Someone took out his lip ring and he looks odd without it. His hair is a messy and hanging in his eyes but he’s awake and talking and alive, and it makes him want to start crying all over again.

“I’m sorry,” Trunks says.  He settles back against his pillows. “I really fucked up.”

“Yeah, you did.”

He sees no reason to sugarcoat it.  Trunks overdosed and wound up in the hospital.  He nearly died. They aren’t immortal. They’re just kids playing pretend at being rockstars.

“I should slow down.”

Goten reaches up to fiddle with one of his nose rings and watches him.

“Will you?”

He’s told him before to slow down.  Not to mix pills or powders or whatever is making it up his nose, down his throat, or in his veins on a particular night.  Tried to get him to just to drink with him and not take anything else--as if it’s better, but.

“No,” he says after a moment. “I don’t think I can slow down.  I’d have to just...stop.”

That isn’t what Goten expected to hear.

“Stop?”

Trunks nods and stares at the inside of his arms.  Goten sees the bruises pressed in the skin like flower petals.  He remembers the first time he discovered them in bed. How he wanted to bury his face in Trunks’s hair.  How he showed him how he did it, said he was good with needles.

“Yeah.  I mean, I dunno if I can but.” He lets out a breathy laugh through his teeth. “I was so scared.  And I scared everyone else, too. You especially, baby.”

He nods, not sure what to say.  They had stepped outside the club and Trunks had said he was hot and tired and then down he went.  On the pavement while Dinna covered her mouth in a scream and Bardock scrambled to call an ambulance.

“Your dad was completely silent,” he says. “I’d never seen him so quiet.”

“Shit.” He lowers his eyes. “They didn’t say that part when they were here.”

He doesn’t say it to make him feel bad, or maybe he does.  Wants to let him know that his actions have consequences.

Goten holds his arms loosely and cocks his head to the side.

“So what now?”

Trunks shrugs. “I dunno.  I talked to a doctor. They want me to do an outpatient, group therapy thing so I don’t have to go to an actual rehab place and that’s fine by me.”

Goten chances a smile.

“Don’t wanna go on a revival of  _ Celebrity Rehab with Dr. Malaka _ ?”

“Fuck no.”

They laugh together and it feels like pouring salt on a wound.  Goten swallows. He isn’t sure how to approach it. He reaches out tentatively and Trunks bridges the gap.  He stares at the tattoos on the backs of their hands. His is a sun and Trunks’s is a crescent moon. It’s how they saw each other.  Racing through space as shadow and light. Sun and moon. Complementing each other onstage and in real life. He squeezes his fingers and fights back tears.

“I’d ask for a kiss,” Trunks says, “but my breath is  _ rancid. _  I won’t subject you to that.”

He lets out another awkward chuckle and swallows.  It’s strange, but he thinks they might be okay. Maybe.

\--

When Goten gets home, he showers for what feels like hours before he decides what to do.  They don’t have too many drugs in the house--it’s too suspicious. They go out to parties.  And, before, they would go absolutely wild together. Before Goten slowed down and well, well before any of this.  What memories he has of that time are blurry, but good. But they have to grow up. They aren’t immortal. They aren’t invincible.  He can’t chase the image from his mind of Trunks’s eyes rolling back in the head or unhear the crack of his skull when it landed on the pavement.

He gathers up what bottles he can find and puts them in the tote bags he uses to get groceries.  He can’t find anything other than some baggies with weed residue on them, so he just throws them out.  He texts Dinna to let her know that he’s on the way and shoves the lot of it in the car.

Goten’s been slowing down, but he doesn’t know about stopping.  He never thought about it. After all, his dad still smokes at least a bowl a day and he’s in his forties.  But, for Trunks, he will. If he’s serious about this, but. He trusts him. He’ll try. And Goten will be there to help him.

Dinna looks surprised when she opens the door.

“You said you had boobs for me?” she asks, blinking her bangs from her eyes.

During the six months she and Goten dated two years ago, she still had her naturally curly hair, but she’s taken to straightening it.  It looks good, but it also makes her look exactly like one of her mothers. And not even the one she’s biologically related to. Not that he’d tell her that.  He enjoys not having his kidneys punched.

“Booze,” he corrects and lifts the totes so the bottles clink against each other. “Autocorrect, y’know?  Anyway. Let me in. These bags are heavy.”

Dinna steps aside, confusion evident on her face.  Goten walks into the kitchen and dumps the bags on the table.

“They’re mostly full,” he says, “anything that just had the dregs or whatever I just rinsed out and recycled.”

Dinna walks over to him and gestures to the bottles.

“What is this about?”

He isn’t one to lie and, really, there’s no reason to.  Goten runs his fingers through his shaggy hair and shrugs.

“Trunks,” he says. “He’s going to try going fully sober so I figured I’d get the booze out of the house.”

Dinna looks at the full tote bags and then at him.  Then she laughs.

“Son, you are too good for this world.”

\--

It takes a lot of effort not to treat Trunks like porcelain when he comes home.

“Hospital food is ass,” he complains as he sinks into the couch. “Are we ordering in?”

Goten flops next to him and curls in him, glad he’s home.  He smells like him, like bergamot and citrus, and not like the hospital.  The luster has returned to his hair and his skin isn’t a sickly pallor. His lip ring has returned.  He looks like himself. Goten doesn’t think the ghastly image of him in the hospital bed will leave his mind any time soon, but he’s glad he doesn’t have to actively see it anymore.

He’s also lucky to have him to himself.  Bra took a temporary leave from tour to come see him in hospital and his mom rarely left his side.  But they’re at their apartment now, just them.

“I put the order in while you were showering,” he says. “And I’m spoiling you so I ordered from your favorite Indian place.”

Trunks grins and rests his head on his shoulder.

“Thanks, baby.” He pauses. “So.  I know I fucked up. And I’m going to try and...y’know, not do that anymore.”

When Goten said he would take the journey with him, he smiled.  Goten curls into him, savoring the feel of him. Sometimes, when they were little, they felt so close it was almost as if they were the same person.  He feels that way now, connected to him on the couch. He’s missed his other half. The moon to his sun.

“Try,” he echoes. “All we can do, right?”

He nods.  Trunks reaches down and links their fingers and stares down at the intertwined digits.

“I hate hospitals,” he says. “That should be motivation enough.”

He laughs harshly and Goten turns to drop a kiss on the top of his soft, silky hair.

“And me?” he asks in a teasing voice.

Trunks lifts his head and kisses him gently.

“Always you.”


End file.
